


What's In a Name?

by unfortunate_truth



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred is Black, Alternate Universe - High School, America is Alfred F. Jones, Enemies to Lovers, England is Arthur Kirkland, Eventual Smut, France is Tibault (basically), Homophobic Language, Kissing, LITERALLY SO MUCH KISSING, Lots of Fights Basically, M/M, Mexico is Mercutio, Minor Violence, Romeo and Juliet AU, Romeo and Juliet References, it's good just read it, unbeta'd we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28355517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunate_truth/pseuds/unfortunate_truth
Summary: Two households, both alike in dignity (the athletes and the band kids, of course)In a fair High School, where we lay our scene...One Halloween night, Arthur Kirkland, king of the high school band nerds and resident gay icon of Washington High, attends a costume party dressed in drag.The same night, Alfred F. Jones, basketball star, falls in love with a girl named Artie at a costume party.Of course, chaos ensues.-Or, a Romeo and Juliet high school au where the Capulets are band geeks, the Montagues are jocks, and Alfred and Arthur are the star-crossed lovers. Oh, and Alfred thinks Arthur is a girl.(posting updates soon - ao3 made me post the work tonight lol)
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Act I: The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our story begins on a fateful Halloween night at a costume party. And Arthur is a drag queen.

> _ROMEO: What lady is that which doth enrich the hand_
> 
> _Of yonder knight?_
> 
> _SERVINGMAN: I know not, sir._
> 
> _ROMEO: Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!_
> 
> _It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night_
> 
> _Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear,_
> 
> _Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear…._
> 
> _Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!_
> 
> _For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night._
> 
> _Act 1, Scene 5_

**Arthur Kirkland**

**Friday, October 31st, 9:37 pm**

"Oh, this is going to be good. The jocks won't even know what hit them."

Arthur looked away from the mirror and toward Francis, who'd just spoken. He said nothing in reply to the boy, but smirked as he went back to meticulously applying his makeup.

"I'm serious!" Francis said, grinning like a cat with a mouse between its paws. "A whole gaggle of band kids infiltrate a jock party, and woo them with our charms? And our _hot bods?"_ At this point, he flipped his long blonde hair, rolling his body lewdly. "It'll be quite the sight."

Francis wasn't wrong - it would be quite a sight. Arthur and Francis, along with a couple of friends from their high school band, had cooked up a fiendish scheme for this particular Halloween night. It all started when a band kid had overheard some student athletes talking after class - the jocks were planning an epic Halloween party at an undisclosed location, RSVP only, costumes required, kegger style, no band nerds allowed. Of course, this particular band student had immediately informed Arthur - king of the band, more or less - which of course led to Arthur telling Francis, which inevitably led to Francis telling - well, everyone. 

There was a long-standing feud between the band kids and the jocks at Washington High. It was no surprise that the party was vehemently anti-band kid, as all jock parties were. The same applied to all band functions: no athletes allowed. There was a line drawn in the sand, and it was clear where both groups stood. The bad blood was no joke. Surprisingly, though, no one really knew why or how the feud came about. Whatever its origins, it was an all-out war, and the battle scars ran deep. There were of course the classic jeers and nasty remarks from both sides - that band kids were try-hard, ugly, pothead nerds, that jocks were airheaded, cocky, beer-drinking slobs - but there were deeper problems, too. Disruptions in class, fights in parking lots, pranks that went way too far, slashed tires and keyed cars. The feud had left a trail of broken instruments and busted basketballs that went on for miles. 

Obviously, that meant that Arthur had to infiltrate this "jocks only" party and cause a little mayhem. The plan was brilliant: dress up in full drag, don a costume, bat a lash, and make a few dumb jocks fall in love. Then, when the moment was right - they'd reveal they were boys in drag, and rock those straight boys' world. Hopefully it wouldn't lead to too much fighting, but if it did, Arthur knew how to handle himself. What better way to knock an arrogant jock down a few pegs than to beat his ass while wearing a dress? 

Arthur tapped glitter on his eyelids, still smirking. He was nearly unrecognizable, just as he'd planned - his eyes were obscured by bold green glitter, complemented by dramatic dark lashes. His eyebrows, normally as thick as caterpillars and darker than his hair, were completely hidden by glue and foundation. He'd even invested in semi-permanent hair dye, transforming his normally honey-blonde hair to a shocking ginger.

"Queen Elizabeth!" Francis called, pulling at the lace front of his wig. "Are you done yet?"

Arthur appraised Francis' final look - ridiculously pale, powdered skin, bright blush, and a white powdered wig that made him nearly two feet taller than he already was. He was completely unrecognizable. His normally long blonde hair was covered, and he'd contoured his face so beautifully, his angular jawline was nearly gone. He not only looked like a woman - he looked remarkably like who he was dressing up as.

"You honestly look like Marie Antoinette," Arthur said, applying a last pouf of powder to his nose. "It's kind of scary."

Francis preened at the praise, shimmying happily. The crinoline folds of his stiff dress crinkled as he danced, and Arthur had to keep himself from laughing. "Well, you'd look just like Elizabeth the First if you'd just wear that goddamn wig I bought _specifically_ for you," Francis said, sending Arthur a look.

Arthur rolled his eyes in reply, and stood stiffly - his corset didn't allow for much movement, if any. "I told you, I don't want to wear one! They're too itchy."

Francis huffed, adjusting his fake boobs. "Whatever. You aren't going to pass if you don't wear a wig, just saying."

Arthur shrugged. "There's a ton of girls with short hair. I'm not going to be itchy and upset all night because I'm suffering under a ten pound wig. I'm going to sweep these clueless jocks off their feet with short hair and everything."

"Whatever," Francis repeated, already resisting the urge to scratch at his hairline. "Let's just go."

Arthur smiled, turning to address the assembled band kids. "Ladies," he said, pitching his voice a little higher than usual. "Are you ready to hit the town?" 

A chorus of falsetto male voices answered in the affirmative, and Arthur's heart swelled. He was so proud of his gays. _This_ was teamwork. _This_ was friendship. Did the jocks have this? There was no way. What the band kids had was something special, and Arthur was ecstatic to be their leader. Tonight was their night, and they were about to fuck shit up.

* * *

**Alfred Jones**

**Friday, October 31st, 9:50 pm**

"Jones! Jones, wait - what the hell are you supposed to be?"

Alfred's head snapped up, toward whoever was trying to get his attention. It was really dark at this party - obnoxiously dark, in Alfred's opinion, but he didn't get a say in how his over-the-top friend Park ran the party. This was Park's world, and they were all just living in it. Alfred squinted into the darkness of the house, trying to see through the faux fog (created from loads of dry ice, which Alfred had bought and carried in all by himself, thank you very much), but he still couldn't see who was talking to him. "What?" he finally said, adjusting his glasses to no avail.

Just like that, his best friend Miguel was at his side. "Dude, are you blind?"

"Bruh, I can't see a damn thing," Alfred replied. "It's dark as fuck."

Miguel smirked. "Dark enough that you blend right in!" 

Alfred rolled his eyes - leave it to Miguel to make a racist joke. Alfred didn't mind - he was used to it, being a Black kid in a predominantly white school - plus, Miguel was Hispanic, so they sort of tossed jibes back and forth. It wasn't a big deal. It was a big deal when some stupid white kid said something, though - Alfred was unafraid to take any skinny white band kid who looked at him wrong to pound town. Well. Pound town, with his fists. Not the other kind of pound town -

"Alfred. You good?" 

Miguel was waving a hand in front of Alfred's face, trying to get his attention. Alfred snapped to attention, observing his friend now that he could see him. Miguel was decked out head to toe in a Jack Sparrow costume, his tan skin and dark eyes complementing the somewhat ridiculous dreadlock wig nicely. Alfred's eyes accidentally lingered on Miguel's shirt, open at the collar to expose a heinous amount of glossy pectorals. Alfred shook himself. "Oh. Sorry. What did you say?"

"I asked you what you're supposed to be dressed up as. I've asked like four times now, bro."

Alfred laughed. "Oh, right. Yeah! I'm Barack Obama on the court."

Miguel just blinked at him. Finally, he spoke: "Alfred, my man, _escuché._ You know I love you, man. But you're literally not wearing a costume. You're just holding a basketball."

Alfred scoffed. "Hello? I'm wearing dress pants and a black jacket, exactly like Obama in that one tik tok. And look!" He pointed at his shoes. "Dress shoes, baby!" 

Miguel couldn't help but chuckle at his friend, who obviously thought he'd actually donned a fantastic costume. "Alright, then, Mr. Obama. Good luck explaining your costume all night."

"Yeah, yeah, fuck you, Mexican Johnny Depp!"

Miguel just flipped Alfred off as he walked away, presumably to grab beer.

Alfred sat carefully on one of Park's couches, expensive, as was everything in the house - and placed his basketball in his lap. He wasn't entirely sure what to expect of this party, but for some reason, he felt that something important was about to happen. He had a feeling, a sneaking premonition, that this Halloween night would go down in history; this party seemed life-altering, and not in a good way. But that was dumb, right? Alfred tried to shake the feeling, sitting on the couch, waiting for the party to start amping up.

A sudden commotion at the front door had Alfred's head snapping up - he tried to peer through the foggy darkness and see what the ruckus was about, adjusting his glasses as he squinted. It seemed as if a large group of girls had come to the party (probably the cheerleaders, Alfred thought idly; they always caused a scene), and their costumes were attracting attention. Alfred sat forward on the couch, his dress pants hiking up his long legs, basketball teetering on his knees, trying to see what was going on. The girls were all decked out in ball gowns and tall wigs, and they all of course looked incredible - girls always went all out for Halloween, a fact Alfred had never understood - but one among them wasn't wearing a wig at all. Alfred leaned forward even further, intrigued - and that's when the girl turned around.

Their eyes met, and that's when Alfred's heart stopped. His basketball dropped unceremoniously off of his knees, rolling across the floor, but he didn't even notice. He was too entranced by this girl's gaze, all the way across the room.

She was the most beautiful human Alfred had ever seen. He studied her face with unabashed interest: delicate eyebrows and rosy red cheeks, high cheekbones and pouty lips, a surprisingly defined jawline, and to top it all off, a tuft of poofy pinkish hair atop her head. It was her eyes, though, that mesmerized Alfred - bright emerald green, dancing with mirth, accentuated by glittery makeup. 

The girl noticed his open-mouthed staring, and smirked in his direction, batting her eyelashes coyly. Alfred's heart squeezed, and he blushed hard. Then he came to his senses, clamping his mouth shut quickly and adjusting his glasses. He stood immediately, overcome with the urge to approach this girl. She was beautiful in a way Alfred couldn't explain - she was unlike anyone he'd ever seen before. 

Quickly, he strode toward the front hall, where the gaggle of girls had congregated. Already, they'd picked up more than a few interested parties - boys were flocking to them like moths to a flame. Alfred cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. Who were these girls? Why had he never seen them before? This was a jocks only party, so he should've been able to recognize everyone, and yet …

Before he knew it, Alfred was standing before the mystery girl. Up close, it was clear that she'd applied a lot of makeup for her Halloween look, but beneath all the layers of product, she was stunning. It was still so dark and foggy in Park's house, so Alfred couldn't make out all the details of the girl's face. He couldn't even focus on one particular part of her face, either - his gaze wandered helplessly from her sparkling eyes to her lipstick-lined lips, which actually, now that he was closer, looked perfectly kissable - distractingly so, in fact -

"Hello?"

Alfred's eyes widened as he registered the fact that the girl was speaking to him. His heart began to hammer in his chest, a combination of embarrassment and desire coursing through his body.

"Oh, uh. Sorry," Alfred managed to say, voice coming out lower than he intended. He cleared his throat, fidgeting. 

"Don't apologize, handsome," the girl said, voice dripping with sarcasm and just a hint of a British accent. She appraised him slowly, making sure Alfred knew he was getting checked out. He'd never been so nervous in his life as she unsubtly looked him over, licking her lips. "I was just asking you what exactly your costume was." Her gaze flicked back up to his, emerald eyes teasing, and Alfred's mouth felt suddenly dry. 

"I, um…" Alfred held up his hands to show her his basketball, only to find them empty. Shit. In his haste to meet this girl, he'd totally lost his only prop. "Oh." His face reddened, and he scratched his neck awkwardly. _Real smooth, Alfred._ "Well, I'm supposed to be Barack Obama playing basketball. Y'know. From that tik tok? But I seem to have lost my basketball."

The girl just blinked at him in apparent distaste, quirking a brow. "Barack Obama … playing basketball," she said slowly, and God, her voice seemed so familiar, but at the same time, entirely new - it was breathy, and sort of low-pitched for a girl, but that lilting British accent was _doing things_ for Alfred. 

"Yeah!" Alfred said quickly, wrenching his mind from the gutter where it had apparently chosen to take an extended stay. "From that tik tok!" He lowered his voice, imitating the former President: _"That's what I do, baby! That's what I do!"_

Once again, the girl just blinked at him. 

Alfred's shoulders slumped. "You've never seen the tik tok, have you."

The mysterious girl let out a breathy little laugh, and _damn_ that had Alfred's insides twisting and squirming like he was about to take the SAT. Who _was_ this girl? Was she casting a spell on him? "Well, don't look so disappointed, Mr. President," the girl cooed, and that was flirtatious, right? She had to be flirting. "You can just show me." Her eyes flickered downward, quite obviously focusing on the front of Alfred's pants, and Alfred's face drained of color. She wanted to - right now? He let out a garbled noise, heart rate astronomically high. "Show you -" he said, mouth opening and closing like a fish. God, this woman had reduced him to nothing in just five minutes, what was _wrong_ with him - ?

"The tik tok, silly," the girl interrupted, clearly trying not to laugh at Alfred's floundering. "Here." She reached for the front of her corset - Alfred averted his eyes, face flaming - and pulled out her phone. She unlocked it quickly, but not before Alfred caught a glimpse of her lockscreen - a full moon illuminating a picturesque balcony and lavish garden. How intriguing. Alfred didn't have time to dwell on the image before the girl was crowding into his space, holding her phone so they both could see. He hoped she didn't notice his pulse quicken in excitement when she placed a delicate hand on his forearm. Alfred typed in the search bar with shaking fingers, and they both watched as Obama sunk a three-pointer and walked away, shouting, _"That's what I do, baby!"_ The girl hummed in acknowledgement, finally registering Alfred's earlier quote. 

Then the phone was gone and tucked back down the front of her dress, and she was smiling coyly up at Alfred. She leaned in close, breath ghosting over Alfred's ear - he tried not to sigh aloud - and whispered, "Your costume is terrible, but you're cute, so I'll let it slide."

Alfred blinked and tried to calm his half-hard dick as the girl sauntered away, skirts rustling. She turned toward him, saying breezily over her shoulder: "You gonna get me a drink, or what?"

Alfred moved so fast he literally stumbled.

* * *

**Arthur Kirkland**

**Friday, October 31st, 10:30 pm**

This was going so, so much better than expected.

Arthur had planned to attend this party and attract men like pigs to fodder, simpering and giggling and bagging at least a couple guys. He and Francis actually had a bet to see who could catch the most boys throughout the night, and Arthur thought for sure he'd win.

Well, that was before he'd seen Barack Obama. 

The kid was charming and awkward and clearly desperately into Arthur, which gave him an incredibly deep sense of satisfaction. Arthur recognized him from somewhere - some class maybe, or from one of those sports - but he couldn't put his finger on exactly who he was. It was quite funny that Arthur couldn't properly identify him, seeing as he was literally wearing no costume at all. Arthur didn't want to admit that he found that fact cute as hell, nor did he want to admit that the guy's well-trimmed curls looked absolutely irresistible. The guy was a package, for sure - ebony skin that reflected blue in the darkness, muscles that strained against the fabric of his dress shirt and slacks, a jawline sharp enough to cut yourself on, and a winning smile. But it was those _eyes_ that had Arthur feeling some type of way - blue eyes, bluer than the sky on a clear day, deep and achingly beautiful. Arthur wasn't simping for the boy, or anything, but it did make him feel a delicious, hot warmth inside when he noticed those blue eyes unabashedly checking him out.

He'd been drinking and talking with this boy for who knows how long, and surprisingly, he was enjoying himself! It seemed that Arthur was about to lose his bet with Francis, because he couldn't be bothered to go flirt with anyone else. He was going to stay right here, and hum happily as the handsome jock spoke.

"Are you _sure_ I've never seen you before?" the blue-eyed boy asked again, for at least the seventh time. Arthur contemplated his answer carefully, sipping from his red solo cup.

"You _have_ seen me before," Arthur said simply, licking his lips. He could tell his lipstick was already beginning to fade from all his talking and drinking.

The boy huffed, flexing his hands on his knees. "I would've remembered you," he said, a hint of emotion coloring his voice. God, this boy was having a conniption over this! Arthur wanted to cackle with glee, but held himself back. What a delicious trick!

"You've seen me before," Arthur said airily, remembering to pitch his voice a little higher, make it a little more breathy. He didn't miss how the jock's breath hitched every time Arthur spoke in his falsetto, a fact that had him grinning wickedly internally.

"Then what's your name," the boy said earnestly, turning to face Arthur fully. "Please. Tell me your name."

Arthur contemplated for all of two seconds before scoffing. "If I told you, that would ruin the fun, now wouldn't it."

The boy ran a frustrated hand over his curls, sighing. "Fine. Don't tell me. But I'll tell you! I want you to know." Arthur tried to protest, but the stubborn boy kept talking. "I'm Alfred. Alfred F. Jones. I'm a senior, and I'm on the basketball team. I'm nearly 19 and -"

Arthur's eyes widened. Alfred Jones, the basketball star? The guy in his chemistry class with the big ego ... of course. He should've recognized the blue eyes - it wasn't every day you saw a beautiful black boy with blue eyes. Arthur had to admit that Alfred had always been attractive … but Arthur had never felt particularly attracted _to_ him. He gasped. This was bad. Arthur quickly realized he had to conceal his gasp, and he hid his reaction by stifling a theatrical yawn. "Bo-ring!" he sang coyly, effectively cutting off the boy.

Alfred's mouth hung open, plush lips in a perfect "O." Clearly, he'd never been cut off so rudely whilst introducing himself, which Arthur found quite funny. "I …" he said, trailing off. "You think I'm boring?"

Arthur sighed dramatically. "No, silly," he said, leaning into Alfred's personal space, reveling in the dark-skinned boy's rapid intake of breath. "I don't think you're boring - I just don't want to know all that silly, boring stuff. I want to get into it, learn the _interesting_ things about you. Here," he said, arranging himself so they were pressed together from thighs to hips to shoulders. "Let's play a game."

Alfred only swallowed thickly in reply, nodding. Apparently, all this touching had him tongue tied. 

"We're going to come up with a question that we both have to answer - it has to be a deep question, but one that doesn't pertain to school or anything boring like that. I'll go first," he said, playfully trailing a finger up Alfred's forearm, admiring the goosebumps that erupted on the other boy's skin. "Who was your childhood crush? My answer's easy: Barack Obama."

Alfred's face went through an onslaught of expressions, before finally settling on one of disbelief. "You're joking," he said, downing the last of his drink.

Arthur smirked. He actually wasn't joking. "My parents took me to a rally when he was campaigning, which was when I was about nine. I saw him up there on that podium in that crisp suit, and I was sold," he explained.

Alfred still looked incredulous, but the corners of his lips turned up in a smile. "Well. Mine was always I Love Lucy."

Arthur nearly choked. "Lucille Ball?"

"Yeah," Alfred said. "Something about that short ginger hair, and the way she made me laugh." They both realized the gravity of his statement - Arthur's hair was currently ginger, and he'd been making Alfred laugh all night. Embarrassed, Alfred averted his eyes. Arthur grinned to himself.

"Alright. Your turn to come up with a question, pretty boy," Arthur said. He didn't miss how Alfred blushed so hard it was visible on his dark skin. 

* * *

**Alfred F. Jones**

**Friday, October 31st, 11:49 pm**

Alfred was certifiably drunk, and well on his way to falling in love. Or wait, was he certifiably in love, and well on his way to being drunk? Either was possible. Maybe a little of both - he was a bit confused. And a lot plastered.

He and his mystery girl had been talking for nearly two hours, and he still didn't know her name. They'd been asking each other all sorts of questions, some deep and probing, some light-hearted and silly. He felt like he knew this girl on a deeply personal level - he knew that she and her parents had immigrated from Great Britain when she was only five, and that her father was a prominent professor. He knew she was an only child, preferred tea over coffee, savory over sweet, and liked her men "strong enough to hold her down." (Her words, not his.) He knew she'd had a tough time balancing her American life with her family's strict British ideals, and that she often wished her father would've stayed in Britain to teach, rather than drag her across the globe. He knew the gleam of her green eyes and the lilt of her silvery laugh, he was familiar with her delicate hands tracing distracting patterns on his forearm.

But he still didn't know her _name_. He couldn't figure out who she was, and was baffled when she told him she was in one of his classes. Their questions quickly turned into a drinking game, which Alfred of course lost by a landslide (the girl's distracting fingers kept dragging across his arms and hands in a most wonderful manner, causing his brain to short circuit), which meant Alfred was drunk off his ass.

"What's your _naaame_ ," he whined, slouching back against the couch. 

The girl just smirked at him, one hand on his arm, one burning a hole on his thigh. "I won't tell you," she crooned, grinning. "Unless…" she trailed off, losing confidence for the first time that night. Then she steeled herself. "Unless you _beg."_

Even in his inebriated state, Alfred could sense how this statement changed everything. His heartbeat seemed to grow unbearably loud as he sat up, turning so he could look into the girl's eyes. "Would you like it?" He lowered his voice to a whisper. "If I begged?"

Alfred watched the girl's pupils dilate, green being overtaken by black. Her face turned serious, a flicker of desire flashing over her features. "Yes," she replied slowly, voice lower than normal. She was feeling it out, Alfred could tell - she didn't want to overstep any boundaries, and wanted to make sure Alfred was comfortable. "I'd like that very much."

Alfred's walls were completely gone, and his self-control had left at least half an hour ago. So without fully thinking, Alfred was leaning toward the girl, bringing his mouth so close to the shell of her ear that his lips touched it. "Please," he said quietly, low enough so that only she could hear. Alfred could feel the shudder that ran through her body, and smiled. _"Please,"_ he said again, softer still, voice edged with want.

"Please _what,"_ the girl said, and it was barely a whisper. Her eyes were closed, and Alfred could admire the glitter and shadow that had clearly been painstakingly applied to her eyelids. He smirked at the flush that had appeared on her sharp cheekbones - a clear sign of the arousal he'd caused. A gorgeous girl, and he was having this effect on her. God, he was lucky. Then he felt her hand tighten on his thigh, reminding him of who was in charge. "Please _what,"_ she repeated, and her eyes flew open to stare him down in challenge.

Alfred felt his knees go weak and his mouth go dry - he'd never had a girl talk to him like that. Jesus Christ it was hot. What was he even begging for, again? His gaze flitted back and forth from her eyes, glinting with a steely edge that had all Alfred's blood rushing south, to her mouth, pouty pink lips smeared with fading lipstick. Those lips were tantalizing, teasing him, and the girl noticed how much he was staring at them. A slow, sexy grin spread over her face, and the hand on his thigh slid up ever so slightly, tightening a bit more. "Please _what,_ Alfred?"

"Please kiss me," Alfred blurted, and it came out at least an octave lower than intended. He'd never been this turned on in his life, and he needed this girl's lips on his, needed her smart tongue down his throat. He needed that hand that was slowly inching its way toward his crotch to hurry up. 

"Oh, fine," she said coyly, "but only because you asked so nicely."

Then she leaned in and kissed him, one hand sliding over his cheek, the other tightening on his thigh. The kiss tasted a lot like lipstick and alcohol, but Alfred couldn't care less - he was lost in the feeling, the way her lips and tongue sent buzzing electricity from his head to his toes, the way she shifted her head to deepen the kiss, the way their tongues warred within their mouths. Alfred was definitely a lot more drunk than he'd like to admit, so he kissed sloppily. He sat back against the couch, letting her have her way with him, letting her push him back into the cushions and straddle his hips with little ceremony. Alfred was drunk, sure, but he knew with 100% clarity that he had never been kissed like this. The girl was relentless, fighting him for dominance - she kissed like they were battling, and when she took Alfred's lower lip between her teeth and bit down hard, Alfred couldn't help himself. His hips bucked up on their own accord, and he let out an embarrassing whine. The girl didn't even pause; instead, she dove back in with fervor, biting his lip again and again, making Alfred arch up toward her helplessly, wiping his mind clean of anything except for her. Her smell, her lips, her hands, which wandered from Alfred's hair, pulling slightly, down his body, low enough to show her intentions but still teasing. Alfred wasn't even aware of where his hands were, or what sort of interesting noises he was making; all he knew was this girl and this kiss and _damn_ he was achingly hard. He rolled his body on instinct, searching for friction, but the girl's ridiculously poofy dress did little to satisfy his needs. He keened, needy, needier than he'd ever been with anyone else, surprised at how he'd fallen apart beneath her touch, alarmed at how much he wanted her. She kept kissing him with a religious tenacity, somehow making little to no sound as her tongue explored Alfred's mouth, licking the inside of his teeth. That was a lot hotter than Alfred had expected it to be, and he found his hips rolling in a needy, erratic rhythm - he was so far gone. She could do anything to him; he was at her mercy. He needed her. He needed her tongue to keep licking the roof of his mouth, needed her teeth to keep biting his swollen and sensitive lower lip, needed her hands to stop teasing and just take the plunge straight into his too-tight dress pants. He was panting and desperate and making noises he didn't even know he could make - and then all of a sudden she was gone.

His face followed the heat of her breath up, up, up, helpless, but when those lips didn't return, he slowly cracked open his eyes, blinking in confusion. Where was he? He squinted, but remembered his glasses had been forcibly removed from his face and were probably lost forever. He looked around desperately, but it was so dark and that stupid dry ice fog was confusing him; he couldn't make anything out without his glasses, just vague shapes … where was she? Where was his mystery girl?

There was a huge commotion and tons of yelling - Alfred heard the distinctive smack of a fist against a jaw, expletives and shouts growing louder. 

"Artie, we've got to go!" a male voice nearly screamed, breathless.

Then, the mystery girl's voice: "Fuck."

Alfred desperately wished that he could see what the hell was going on - he scrambled around for his glasses, but to no avail. The screeching melee died down as footsteps thundered past him, and as the door slammed closed, there was silence.

"Hey!" Alfred yelled into the darkness. "Where are my glasses?"

* * *

**Arthur Kirkland**

**Saturday, November 1st, 12:30 am**

Arthur had never been this turned on in his entire life. Silly questions had led to deeper questions, which led to drinking and more drinking and Arthur was lucky he could hold his liquor - it was clear that Alfred couldn't. The jock's words were slurring together, and his gaze - blue eyes that had before admired respectfully - now held an undeniable heat, staring at Arthur with unabashed want. As he answered each of Arthur's questions, he grew less and less coherent, trailing off whenever he was distracted by Arthur's looks (which was quite often). At first he'd answered with gusto, telling Arthur all about himself: his favorite books and movies (Captain America comics were apparently books, and Captain America movies were cinematic masterpieces), his mom and dad (who he admitted, blushing prettily, that he loved and admired), his obsession with Lego sets, theme parks, and McDonald's, and of course, his endless love of all things sports. Arthur thought everything Alfred liked was childish and silly at best, and he detested sports - but there was something about the intensity of the boy's obsessions, the way his eyes lit up and his hands fluttered about excitedly as he spoke about his interests. Now Alfred had slowed, smile languid, words jumbling up as he spoke. He was trying to explain the difference between watching baseball in person versus on tv, and Arthur literally couldn't care less. But Arthur couldn't lie - he was really attracted to the jock. And not just in a sexual way; he liked Alfred. He wanted to get to know him, wanted to hold his hand and touch his hair and cuddle him. Of course, he also wanted to jump his bones, so there was that. It seemed that the feeling was reciprocated, though - they were practically on top of each other on the couch, and Alfred visibly shuddered as Arthur ran his hands all over the smooth, dark expanse of loveliness that was Alfred's skin. Soon things were escalating, and the flirting and teasing quickly led to Alfred practically moaning in his ear to "please kiss me."

And who was Arthur to say no to that?

Now they were making out, and Arthur was exercising a gigantic amount of self-control as he kissed the jock - he didn't allow himself to make any noises, because he knew they wouldn't be feminine enough, and he made sure to bunch his skirts up between his crotch and Alfred's. He didn't want his cover to be blown, even though that technically was the purpose of the night. No, he was too far gone for this wonderful, genuine, hot as fuck jock, and it was clear Alfred was into him too - but Alfred thought he was a girl. And it was too late to tell him now, so he may as well keep up the charade. As long as he got to keep kissing the adorable jock, shoving him back into the sofa in a manner that was probably not at all feminine, exploring his mouth with his tongue - he was happy. Even if he was finding it increasingly difficult to hold in his moans and hide his stiff erection. He thanked God for the layers of crinoline and tulle that served as the only barrier between the boys.

As they kissed, Arthur noticed how Alfred reacted to being dominated; the way his body arched up on its own accord when Arthur pressed him back into the sofa, the way he let out tiny, gasping moans when Arthur pushed into his mouth forcefully. Arthur wondered if Alfred liked biting - he'd dated a boy once, a boy who, whenever Arthur nibbled on his lower lip, would let out a little whimper. He decided to try it - biting into Alfred's plush lip maybe a little too harshly. Alfred's reaction was nearly violent. His hips bucked up into Arthur, and he whined, long and loud. Arthur's stomach coiled with heat at the reaction, and he decided to do it again and again - watching in delight as the boy beneath him fell apart, hips grinding up into nothing, moaning louder than Alfred had ever heard someone moan in public. 

Arthur kissed Alfred with everything he had, until there was a firm hand on his shoulder. Arthur broke the kiss with difficulty, watching with hooded eyes as Alfred's face tilted upward, lips searching, back arching. He turned to see who'd interrupted him - it was Francis, wig ripped off, dress in tatters. He sported a black eye and a crooked grin, and his message was crystal clear: the band kids' cover was blown. They needed to leave now, or they'd be in serious trouble. 

Arthur looked forlornly back at the boy he was still half-straddling, whose eyes blinked slowly open, blissed-out expression fading to one of confusion. 

"Artie, we need to go NOW!" Francis exclaimed, pointing to an angry group of jocks who quickly approached. One of them sported a black eye similar to Francis', and looked like he was out for blood.

"Fuck," Arthur muttered, standing quickly and trying to calm his painfully hard dick. He and Francis took off, dresses swishing, and sprinted for the door.

Arthur looked back one last time at Alfred, who'd lost his glasses - of course, Arthur had accidentally flung them on the floor during the initial stages of their makeout session - and smiled sadly. The poor, beautiful boy would never see Arthur again, at least, not like this. He'd be pining over a girl that didn't exist, wishing for a kiss from Arthur's lips. Arthur frowned, suddenly forlorn - but that's when a fist connected with his jaw, sending him spinning.

"Fucking band kid faggot!" A jock screamed, fists flying. Arthur yelled in outrage, socking the kid right in the stomach before ducking and dashing out of the house and down the street.

Arthur turned to his friends, their feet pounding against the pavement, doing a mental count to make sure everyone had made it out. He sighed in relief, and that's when Francis began cackling maniacally. Everyone joined in, their hysterical laughter reverberating across the sleeping town. As their footsteps echoed hollowly against buildings, Arthur didn't laugh at all - he just ran, wiping tears from his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Barack Obama tik tok Alfred bases his costume on, in case you haven't seen it: https://youtu.be/7_aGQ_RXNRI  
> This is already getting way more sensual than my previous works, so prepare yourself! Lol.  
> I wanted to try writing a Black Alfred, because the designs for a race swapped America I've seen on tumblr are stunning. I don't want to be insensitive, however, so if there is any problem with my portrayal, please let me know. Also, Park is APH South Korea, and Miguel is APH Mexico. They are two of America's top allies and trade partners, so I decided to make them Alfred's closest friends. I realize Park and Miguel are not the names given to these countries by the fanbase, but this fandom is literally dead anyway, sooo...  
> Also, there will be more homophobic language - it's unfortunately essential to the way I'm making this play out - but I made sure to tag that, and I'm deeply sorry if that's triggering for anyone.


	2. Scene 2: The Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alfred pines desperately for a girl that doesn't exist.

> _ROMEO: (upon seeing Juliet)_
> 
> _But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?_
> 
> _It is the east, and Juliet is the sun._
> 
> _Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon..._
> 
> _See how she leans her cheek upon her hand._
> 
> _Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand_
> 
> _That I might touch that cheek!_
> 
> _Act 2, Scene 2_

**Alfred Jones**

**Monday, November 3rd, 7:52 am**

“Jeez, Park, you were slow as hell today!” Alfred called, voice teasing. They'd just finished a grueling morning basketball practice, which Alfred had enjoyed immensely. Park and a couple of his teammates were moving slowly, wincing as they showered off and got ready for the school day. A few teammates even had black eyes and swollen lips - Alfred wasn’t really sure what had happened, but he hadn’t asked. He was too excited to practice!

Park flipped Alfred off, running a towel through his smooth, jet-black hair. “I’d like to see you play point after being sucker-punched.”

Alfred frowned. “Punched?” he asked, hopping into a pair of sweatpants. He noted with dismay that they were already getting too short, and sighed at his ankles, on prominent display. “When did this happen?”

Park squinted in confusion at Alfred, which he didn’t often do - for one, he was almost never confused; he was always in control in any situation, and secondly, he was Asian, so he never squinted for fear of racist jokes. That was actually a big part of why Alfred and Park were such good friends. They both had to deal with the bullshit of going to a predominantly white school in the Midwest. Park had been through it all: white kids pulling their eyes back when he walked by, white kids mocking Asian languages when they talked to him, even white kids who were weirdly obsessed with him, and insisted that he looked like a member of a K-pop group. Of course, he was gorgeous (not that Alfred had noticed, or anything) with short dark hair, piercing brown eyes, and a somewhat alarmingly toned body that Alfred wondered how the boy had achieved. Even now in the locker room, Alfred had to raise an eyebrow at Park’s trim waist, and his one, two, three … eight abs. How does a person get eight abdominal muscles? How was that even possible?

Park slipped on a shirt and snapped his fingers in front of Alfred’s face, effectively snapping him out of his reverie. “The party? Hello?”

Alfred scratched his head. “Was that what that big ruckus was? I lost my glasses, so I couldn’t see a thing that went down in the front hall.”

Park huffed. “Yeah, you were too busy sucking face with that one chick. We all saw, Casanova.”

Alfred blushed despite himself, memories of warm, demanding lips and sparkling emerald eyes bombarding him. He may have been drunk off his ass, but he would never forget her smile, her laugh, her oddly boyish hair, orangey-pink in the low light - 

“Anyway, while you were dicking around, a bunch of band kids snuck into our party. My specifically planned, RSVP only, anti-nerd party!” Park seemed genuinely upset as he spoke, running a hand through his damp hair. “A couple of those queers even dressed up as girls.”

Alfred frowned. “Why does it matter if they were dressed like girls?” he wondered aloud, but Park didn’t answer. “It sucks that they got in the party, though. But … I’m still confused on how you got punched.”

“God, Alfred, you’re so dumb sometimes,” Park said, wincing as he bent to pick up his schoolbag. “When we found the puny little fags -”

Alfred grimaced at Park’s choice language. “Can you not say that word?” he asked, sliding on his glasses and tying his shoes. 

Park shrugged. “Fine. When we found the puny little nerds, we beat them up.”

The bell rang overhead, and the basketball team slowly filed out of the locker room. “So, that’s why you’re still groaning over a punch three days later,” Alfred said teasingly.

“Hey!” Park yelled, defensive. “Those little shits can pack a punch! At least I fought better than _them!”_ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of his teammates - black eyes, split lips, bruised knuckles. Their underperformance in practice suddenly made way more sense to Alfred.

“Yeah, well,” Alfred said, shouldering his bag. “I still don’t get why we have to beat them up. I mean, I hate them as much as you do,” he explained quickly, as Park’s eyes flashed in anger, “but I don’t understand all the _violence.”_

Park just cracked his knuckles. “Well, they deserve it. You should’ve seen the dumb bitch that punched me - she had this stupid dress on, and dumb pink hair. It was short, too. I swear, all those girls with short hair piss me off -”

Alfred cut Park off, eyes widening. “Wait,” he said slowly, grabbing Park’s arm. “A girl with short hair?”

Park nodded in the affirmative as their peers streamed around them, heading to class in various states of stupor. 

“What color was her hair?” he asked urgently.

Park scoffed. “Man, I don’t know! You think I was checking her out while I socked her on the jaw?”

Alfred’s grip tightened on his friend’s arm. “You _hit_ her?” he asked in shock.

“Well yeah, they all deserve it just the same, fuckin’ fairies -”

“Park! The color of her hair! It’s very important!”

Park bit back his homophobic diatribe, scowling. “I dunno, man. Orange, or pink or some shit? It looked dyed, sort of. But like I said, I didn’t get a super good look.”

Alfred swallowed, realization dawning on him. It was _her._ It had to be. Alfred’s mystery girl was … a _band kid._ And not only that, she’d sucker punched one of his best friends!

“I’m going to class, have fun in chemistry or whatever,” Park said, and stomped away.

Alfred watched him go, overwhelmed with emotions - but then he smirked. His mystery girl wasn’t just talented, interesting, _and_ pretty … she had knocked Park flat on his ass. 

_What a lady._

* * *

**Arthur Kirkland**

**Monday, November 3rd, 8:15 am**

Arthur barely made it to chemistry on time, striding through the door and plopping into the first unoccupied seat just as the bell rang overhead. He sighed, rubbing his jaw - stupid jocks, flinging around homophobic slurs and punching him on the jaw - (right where his parents could see!) so he’d get his car taken away for a week. At least Arthur had had the decency to slug the jock in the stomach, where the poor son of a bitch could hide the bruise. Sure, it took longer to recover from a wallop like that, but hey! Homophobes deserved to wince every time they bent over.

As their chemistry teacher began to lecture uncaringly from behind his desk, Arthur’s heart rate began to calm (he really wasn’t fit enough to ride his bike to school, this week without a car was sure to be _hell)_ and he settled into his seat. A couple of his band friends were in this class, but they all sat up near the front and tried to take notes. Or, they left class completely to go to the bathroom and vape for ninety minutes... so Alfred was more or less alone in the back of the class. He noted that most of the kids sitting near him sported obnoxious letterman’s jackets or lazy athletic apparel, and wrinkled his nose. Great. He was sitting in the jock section of class.

He decided he’d pretend to take some notes, just to keep busy, but when he bent to grab his notebook, he knocked arms with his desk partner. Great, now some jock thought he wanted to fight, but it was only 8:20 and that was way too early for a brawl, in Arthur’s opinion - 

The jock turned towards Arthur, and his train of thought derailed.

It was Alfred. 

Alfred Jones, from the party.

The kid Arthur hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for the last two days.

Alfred looked like something out of a dream, now that Arthur could see him in the daylight, without that strange Halloween fog obscuring his view. He looked freshly showered, his dark curls still slightly damp, his insanely long eyelashes still a bit wet. His dark skin was glowing, like chocolate, or a mocha, or no … that wasn’t right - Arthur couldn’t describe Alfred’s skin. All he knew was that he wanted to _lick_ the dampness right off of it. The boy was wearing a t-shirt that was a bit too large, giving Arthur a glimpse at his collarbones and a pair of well-defined pecs. _Jesus Christ._ And those eyes, oh, Arthur could stare into those eyes for the rest of eternity - the ocean blue of the boy’s irises was so shocking against his dark skin, it was like the bright blue moon against the midnight sky. That was sappy as hell, and Arthur knew it, but it was true, and - 

“Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?”

Arthur’s eyes widened as he realized he’d been staring at the boy. He schooled his expression into one of indifference and shrugged. “Why would I know a jock?”

The boy huffed in annoyance at Arthur’s flippant answer, folding his arms. “Whatever,” he said, but Arthur could still feel Alfred’s curious gaze on him as he began to doodle in the margins of his notebook.

Minutes passed, achingly slow, and Arthur pretended to take notes whilst keeping careful track of Alfred’s movements. Every minute shift was like an earthquake. When Alfred accidentally brushed his knee against Arthur’s as he stretched, Arthur’s pace quickened. Arthur was in fact so attuned to the boy next to him that he began to notice how much he was fidgeting - Alfred was a whirl of motion as he fiddled with his pencil, bounced his leg beneath the desk, and readjusted his glasses.

It looked like as if the jock's mind was going a mile a minute, and he kept closing his eyes, eyelashes fanned out against his cheeks. Arthur wondered what the boy was thinking about. It certainly wasn’t chemistry, that was for sure - but Alfred looked out of it, in the midst of an intense daydream.

Arthur was beginning to worry about the jock, who was now holding his pencil against his own lips, looking blissed out. Arthur’s eyes widened as Alfred moved the pencil over his lower lip, nostrils flaring as he took long, drawn-out breaths. That’s when it hit him, though - and he went straight from worry to shock.

Alfred was clearly reminiscing about the kiss. _Their_ kiss, last Friday night. Alfred was replaying it in his mind, a guilty habit that Arthur himself often found himself doing in class to pass the time. Alfred was probably thinking about how Arthur pushed him into the sofa roughly, straddled him without warning, and bit his lip until it was swollen. The jock was pushing the eraser into his lip, now, and under normal circumstances, it would appear he was chewing on his pencil. But now that Arthur knew what he was thinking about, the image became dangerously hot. Arthur would give any sum of money to be that pencil.

Alfred was starting to get a little carried away, both legs bouncing, hands twitching, face contorting, eyebrows squeezed together. _Damn_. He was really desperate. At this point, he may as well have been sucking the pencil off - it was just obscene! Arthur wasn’t sure what to say, how to snap Alfred out of his reverie, but this needed to be interrupted, and soon, or Arthur was going to have a _very_ unfortunate situation down south. He finally settled on clearing his throat, which immediately caused Alfred’s eyes to fly open. It was clear to Arthur that the other boy was blushing in embarrassment, but to anyone else in class, Alfred probably just looked like he’d been rudely awakened from a nap. He looked around, blue eyes wide. Arthur cleared his throat again, secondhand embarrassment flooding his senses.

Arthur decided to break the silence. "What are you doing?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. He knew the answer, but he wanted to see what Alfred would say.

Alfred froze, the eraser end of his pencil still poised on his lower lip. "Oh, I, uh ... nothing." He pretended to busy himself with his notebook, which wasn’t even open. After a while, he sighed, steeling himself. "You don't happen to know any girls in band, do you?"

Arthur fixed him with a look, then turned to his notes, doodling forcefully.

"I mean, of course you do. You’re a band kid. Right. What I meant was, if I asked you if you knew someone specifically ... do you think you could, y'know, I dunno ... talk to her for me?"

Arthur exhaled through his nose, exasperated. "Who is it?"

"Oh," Alfred said, a little breathily. "Well, the thing is - I don't really know who she is."

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. "Oh my god, you're pining over someone you don't even know?" he replied with scorn.

"Shut up,” Alfred hissed, casting his eyes down at his still blank notes. “I _do_ know her.”

Arthur tried not to get annoyed, pushing his pencil into paper maybe a little too hard. "Just … describe her, then."

"Oh," Alfred said, blushing deep enough that it was visible on his dark skin. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Well, she's beautiful, for one thing. Um. Really short hair, really soft - but it was dyed, or something. It was like, pink, or something."

Realization began to dawn on Arthur, and his eyes widened as a flush began to creep up his neck. "What do you mean ... pink or something?"

Alfred scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Oh, well, we met at a par - I mean ... we met at a place where it was dark. So I couldn't really see her that well. But her hair looked pink in the light.” Alfred looked at Arthur carefully. “Actually, her hair was a lot like yours, kinda poofy and floppy in the front, y'know?"

Arthur began to panic, but tried to hide it, bending over his scribbly drawing as if it was extremely important. So it _was_ him. Alfred _was_ thinking about their kiss, about their conversation. Oh, but what if the jock made the connection right now? This was not good. This was, in fact, very bad. Why hadn’t Arthur just worn a wig, like Francis had told him to? He was such an idiot, and now Alfred was going to figure out that his mystery Halloween girl was really just Arthur, and he was going to beat him to shit. And then Arthur _definitely_ wouldn’t be getting his car back.

Alfred was still explaining, hands gesturing excitedly. “And she had the kindest smile, and these beautiful green eyes -"

Arthur interrupted, heart pounding. "What was the name?”

"What?" Alfred asked, still waxing poetic about Arthur, who he thought was a girl.

"What was the - ahem - girl's name?" Arthur asked through gritted teeth. This was not good. He scribbled frantically in his notes, uncaring as to what he was even drawing at this point.

"Oh, well. You don't happen to know any girls who go by Artie?"

That’s when Arthur’s pencil snapped.

They both stared at the broken pencil, still clutched in Arthur’s hand. He tried to keep his voice steady as he replied, “I may know … someone by that name.”

Alfred immediately brightened. “No way,” he said, excitement building. “Really?”

Arthur gently put his broken pencil back in his bag, retrieving a new one. “Yep.”

Alfred began hurriedly writing in his notes, and Arthur looked to the front of the class to see if they were supposed to be doing an assignment or something. It appeared not, though - the teacher continued to drone on as he had for the last hour and a half, unaffected by the fact that half of his class was sleeping.

Arthur watched in confusion as Alfred hastily scribbled line after line into his notes, handwriting a messy scrawl. The boy wouldn’t let Arthur see what he was writing, but at the end, Arthur glimpsed him carefully write, _“Sincerely, Alfred F. Jones,”_ just like they’d been taught in elementary school. Cute.

 _Not cute!_ Arthur chided, mentally kicking himself. He could _not_ catch feelings for this boy. Alfred was in love with a girl that had only existed on Friday night. He wouldn't like Arthur. He never would, so Arthur needed to mentally prepare for that _now_ before he got in too deep. He would not allow himself to do incredibly stupid things, like fall for straight jocks who liked Captain America and Lego. That was dumb. Incredibly so.

“I need you to give this to her,” Alfred said, and Arthur blinked at him.

The boy was holding out the piece of notebook paper he’d been scribbling on, but it was now meticulously folded into a square. A love note. Oh _god_ , Arthur had to deliver a love note.

He had to deliver a love note to _himself_.

This was not good. What was he going to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have almost all of this story written - except for the end. I'll keep posting all of the draft chapters I have ... but I'm literally so busy with college! Yikes. So. Look out for inconsistent updates!  
> Anyway, I'd really like to apologize for the homophobic language, but it sets up the conflict of the story. As previously stated, Park is my version of APH South Korea, and it made sense to me that he has outdated opinions on homosexuality and queerness, since South Korea still upholds discrimination and creates legal challenges for the LGBT+ community. (C'mon, South Korea! You're better than this!)  
> Again, sorry for the homophobia. It'll get better! Character arcs are coming up!


	3. Scene 3: The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur delivers Alfred's letter ... to himself. A secret rendezvous commences.

> _JULIET: My only love sprung from my only hate,_
> 
> _Too early seen unknown, and known too late!_
> 
> _Prodigious birth of love is it to me_
> 
> _That I must love a loathed enemy._
> 
> _Act 1, Scene 5_

**Arthur Kirkland**

**Monday, November 3rd, 3:11 pm**

Arthur unfolded the piece of paper in his hands for what felt like the millionth time. It crinkled as he smoothed it out, and he laid it flat to read it once more.

> _"Dear Artie,_
> 
> _My name is Alfred, and I'm not quite sure if you remember me???? But we met at that party, the one on Friday night. How did you get into that party anyway??? You're so crazy!! Also, no wonder you didn't want to tell me anything about your school life!!! You didn't want me to know you're a band kid!!! But don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. ;-) Honestly I couldn't care less if you had warts and a beard, I just really like you. I hope you like me too!!! If not, this will be a very embarrassing letter and I will go dig a hole and lay in it and hope to die. Lol!!! So anyway you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my whole life and I really want to see you again. We'll probably have to meet in secret, because the jocks are super mad at all the band kids who got into that party. How did you even get in to the party?!!?!! You're so crazy!!!! I think I already said that!! Anyway I can't stop thinking about kissing you, ~~and I think I might be in love with you~~ and if you feel the same way then we should meet!!!! Come to the gymnasium right after school, go up to that press box where the weird radio guy sits, and go in the gray door on the right. This is my super secret special place so don't tell anyone!!!!! _
> 
> _Sincerely, Alfred F. Jones."_

Arthur crumpled the letter in frustration. Bollocks. This was so terrible! This was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. One part of him was grinning from ear to ear, giddy, giggling. He'd never felt this way about _anyone_ before. Sure, he'd had a few kisses here and there, and he'd dated a couple boys from other towns. But he'd never felt butterflies in his stomach; he'd never smiled sappily at words scrawled messily on a page. He'd never traced the words "I think I love you" with his finger, his other hand pressed to his mouth in excitement.

The other part of him, though, was furious. 

Because Alfred didn't want _Arthur_. He wanted Artie, a girl. He wanted the persona Arthur had adopted, the high, breathy voice, the makeup, the silly flirting. Of _course_ Arthur got himself into a stupid situation like this. How was he supposed to meet Alfred at his secret location? Artie, the girl, didn't exist. If _Arthur_ showed up, Alfred would be confused, betrayed. He'd think Arthur had read his letter and was making fun of him. But if Arthur didn't go to the secret rendezvous, Alfred would be heartbroken. He'd think Artie didn't love him back - and she did! Or, he did. Oh god, he was going to develop split personality disorder from this, wasn't he?

He uncrumpled the letter, smoothing it out with care. He refolded it carefully, following the same pattern Alfred had - imagining his strong, dark hands folding the paper. Those hands; the contrast between his pink palms and the dark backs, those neat nail beds, the way he'd pulled and grabbed at Arthur last Friday; all of it was so _enticing_. The idea of having that again, having those hands hold him, grab his hips, pull his hair - Arthur wanted it more than he wanted to admit. He was almost willing to be discovered just to feel those lips on his one more time.

Was it worth it? What was the right move? If only Alfred wasn't a jock. If only Arthur wasn't a band kid. If only there was no feud, no danger. _If only, if only._ Arthur sighed dejectedly. He needed to decide right now, or he'd miss his opportunity. Alfred would be rushing to the gym right after school, and he'd expect Arthur to do the same if he reciprocated. What to do, what to do?

He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes, more conflicted than he had ever been in his life. There were serious consequences for either decision - Alfred could beat him up for reading the letter, thinking Arthur was there to make fun of him; Alfred could beat him up if he found out the truth, that Arthur had tricked him, pretending to be a girl; or he could beat him up tomorrow if Arthur didn't show up, thinking that Arthur had never delivered the letter at all. Oh God. A lot of beating. Or worse - Alfred could publicly humiliate Arthur, telling everyone that he was a crossdresser and a queer. Arthur couldn't afford to be outed like that. This town was too small, too conservative. News like that would spread like wildfire - Arthur wouldn't recover from that. He couldn't be discovered. But at the same time, he longed for those eyes, those hands, those lips ...

The bell rang, and Arthur sat up, back ram-rod straight. His classmates began to gather their things and fly out of the door - the room drained like an overflowing sink when the plug was pulled. Francis lagged behind, waiting for Arthur, but Arthur waved him on, insisted that he didn't need a ride. He'd made his decision.

* * *

**Alfred Jones**

**Monday, November 3rd, 3:20 pm**

When the gray door opened, Alfred's heart crawled straight up into his throat, his pulse thundering in his ears. He couldn't believe it - she was _here!_

"Alfred?" a voice called, and Alfred would recognize that voice anywhere - he heard that voice in his dreams at this point - it was _her_. Artie. His girl. His love. Could he say that, this early on? He definitely thought so.

"Yeah?" he replied, standing hastily.

"Can you turn the lights off?"

Alfred stopped. Turn the lights off? Why on Earth would he …?

"I don't … want you to see me, yet," Artie explained from the crack in the door. 

"Why?" Alfred blurted. He had already seen her before, so what was the big deal?

"I don't want you to know what I look like, and know who I am," Artie said, and she sounded desperate and scared and Alfred felt terrible. 

"But …" Alfred said sadly. "I already know who you are. I know what you look like!"

"I don't want to get beat up," Artie called again, voice dripping with worry.

Alfred looked at the door in confusion. "Is that really what you think of jocks?" 

Silence.

"You don't … trust me?" Alfred asked.

There was a long sigh, then: "I do trust you, it's just … it's everyone else. I'm not comfortable unless the lights stay off."

Alfred's eyebrows bunched together in worry, and he frowned in sympathy. He was so desperate to see her … but if she wasn't comfortable, then so be it. "Okay, I'm turning off the lights." He flicked the switch, and the room was plunged into utter darkness. "You can come in."

Slowly, the door creaked open, and footsteps padded in. "I … I have some other rules, too," Artie said slowly, voice shaking.

Alfred didn't even care - he just wanted to be with her. "I'll do whatever you want, Artie," Alfred said gently. "I'll do whatever it takes to be with you."

For a moment, there was silence, and Alfred wished he could see Artie's face, to see what she was thinking, how she was feeling. Finally, she spoke:

"We can kiss, but you can't … touch me. I'm sorry, but I just can't let you … a- and we can talk, and hang out or whatever, but I have to tell you now - if you're expecting sex, you're not going to get it."

Alfred's mouth hung open like a fish, and he forgot how to speak for a second. Finally, he managed to choke out a reply, voice squeaking. "I don't expect that at all! I just, um. Really like you. And I want to learn more about you, y'know? Um. So we don't have to … do anything. If you don't want to. In fact, I'm just so stoked you showed up at all."

Artie chuckled, light and breathy.

"Also, I didn't even use my brain, because I have to get to practice soon. I didn't even think about that when I wrote you my letter."

Another chuckle, this one slightly stifled, as if Artie had attempted to quiet herself with her hand, emanated through the room. "So we've got no time at all, is what you're saying," she said smartly, mirth in her voice.

"Um. Pretty much," Alfred said sadly.

"Well, what are your rules, then? If we were to do this again?" 

Alfred balked. His _rules?_ He literally would let Artie do anything - and by anything, he meant _ANYTHING_ \- to him. In fact, he'd probably beg, just like he did last time. So that's exactly what he told her: "I'd let you do anything to me. I'd probably beg you for it, too."

Alfred noted an aborted choking noise, followed by Artie's breathless reply. "Oh, ahem. Okay."

Alfred didn't think Artie could be flustered so easily - at the party, nothing fazed her. But maybe that's because she'd had all that makeup on, and that big dress. Or maybe it was the alcohol, giving her liquid courage. Whatever it was, Alfred couldn't wait to get to know all the different aspects of her personality. 

For now, though, he was already late for practice. "I need to go," he said sadly. "Can I, um. Can I maybe ask you for a kiss? I promise I won't touch you."

Artie seemed to contemplate for a bit, but she eventually replied with a cheeky, "Yes, you can _ask_ for a kiss."

Alfred laughed at himself. "Gosh. Okay, I mean. Can I kiss you? Please?"

Another peal of that beautiful breathless laughter came from Artie. "Yes," she said, and Alfred could tell she was smiling. "I'll find you."

Alfred waited for Artie to make her way over to him, listening to her footsteps approaching. Her hands knocked into his stomach, and he laughed. Those hands slid up from his stomach to his pecs, slow enough to make his heart jump. Then the hands traveled up his neck, settling behind his ears, thumbs on his temples. Something about the darkness made the touching seem so much more _intimate_ , and Alfred let his head fall forward ever so slightly, relaxed and pliant under her touch. He could feel the heat of her breath before he could feel her lips; could hear the little puff of air she exhaled right before diving in.

This kiss was different than the one on Friday night. It was achingly sweet, so soft and chaste that Alfred felt like sweet sugary syrup. Artie moved her lips against his expertly, pushing him just a tiny bit, taking the lead in only the smallest of ways. Alfred felt warm tingles flowing from his lips all the way down to his toes - his arms, anchored dutifully at his sides, were alive with sparks of energy. He arched his neck forward, kissing back with everything he had, letting her know how much he wanted to touch her, how much he wanted her to feel safe and taken care of in his arms. 

She finally licked into his mouth, and Alfred let her, willingly letting her slowly taste each of his teeth. His head began to feel heavy, his body going boneless; he let her tilt his head around however she pleased, let her do with him as she wished. 

Then she was pulling away, and it was just like the first time: Alfred chased after her, his lips searching for her in the darkness, back arching up, neck craning. 

Artie chuckled, stopping him with her hands, sliding them back down his body, ending on his stomach.

After he regained his senses, which could've been anywhere between thirty seconds and five minutes, Alfred smiled a dopey grin. "I can go, first," he said, almost sleepy. "That way I won't see you. And you can leave whenever you like. And, and next time we do this - if you want to do this again, I mean - you can come here first, and get comfortable, and turn the lights off, and I'll just knock on the door and wait patiently."

Artie was silent for a while, and Alfred wondered what she was thinking about. "Okay," she finally said. "Oh, and I have something for you. I'll give it to, um. Arthur. And he can give it to you."

Alfred gave her a thumbs up, then realized she couldn't see it. "Okay. Amazing. Thank you. I mean, um, you're welcome. Or, uh … yeah. Cool. Bye!"

He rushed out of the room , nearly running into a pole that jutted out from the wall. He'd have to look out for that in the future, he thought, but for now, he was _so_ late for practice. He'd be running laps until he died. 

Oh well. It was worth it for the tingly, happy feeling that still resided in his fingers and toes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm having so much fun revisiting Romeo and Juliet to map out this story.  
> As always, keep looking for extremely inconsistent updates, and let me know how you like the story. Oh, and yeah - I already know it's too long. It's way too fucking long.


	4. Scene 4: The Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur must face Alfred in chemistry class, hates himself for falling for a jock, and desperately wishes he and Alfred could be together.

> _JULIET: O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?_
> 
> _Deny thy father and refuse thy name._
> 
> _Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,_
> 
> _And I’ll no longer be a Capulet._
> 
> _Act 2, Scene 2_

**Arthur Kirkland**

**Wednesday, November 5th, 8:12 am**

Arthur had been dreading chemistry class, and not just because he hated the subject and his teacher was somehow more boring than most - no, he was dreading returning to class because he knew he’d have to see Alfred again. Ever since Monday after school, Arthur had especially endeavored to avoid the jock at all costs. He couldn’t bear to see the boy, to see the lovestruck look in his blue eyes. He’d rather die than have to talk to Alfred about “Artie,” the girl who existed only in Alfred’s mind. Arthur was beyond embarrassed - he was mortified. And now he had to see the stupid, beautiful jock in person in chemistry class.

Right when he entered the classroom, Alfred’s eyes lit up with excitement. Arthur pretended not to see him, and tried to move to the front of the classroom to sit with his band friends. But Alfred waved him over urgently, nearly vibrating with excitement, and Arthur couldn’t find it in himself to say no. He sighed, realized he would just have to suffer, and sat down awkwardly in the seat next to Alfred.

A couple of heads turned toward them - Arthur’s band friends looked at him with concern, and Alfred’s jock buddies stared at the two of them as if they’d grown extra heads. One jock even punched Alfred in the arm, leaning over to whisper in his ear. Arthur wasn’t sure who the kid was, but he and Alfred seemed close. He was short, stocky, and looked to be of Hispanic heritage, with a shiny black curtain hairstyle that the boy had definitely spent hours perfecting. _And they say jocks are slobs,_ Arthur thought, staring the boy down with suspicious curiosity. 

“Oh, uh,” Alfred said, replying to his friend’s whispers with blustery bravado. “He’s doing my homework for me, Miguel,” he said loudly. This apparently satisfied all the curious onlookers, band kids and jocks alike. Arthur was at first annoyed with Alfred’s rude comment, but then he realized how _smart_ that answer was. No one would question their conversations and note-passing in class now - they thought Arthur was making some coin, and Alfred was too lazy to do his own work. They wouldn’t be disturbed from now on - it was a perfect cover.

Alfred was a _lot_ smarter than Arthur had ever given him credit for.

“So,” Alfred said, suddenly turning his hundred-megawatt smile on Arthur. _Lord_ , that thing should come with a warning. Arthur was nearly _blinded_. “Have you talked to, uh, Artie lately?”

Arthur winced. Not even five minutes into class, and they were already on his least favorite subject. “A little,” he said flippantly, trying to act uninterested as he fished out his notebook and pencil.

Alfred seemed to deflate, but only slightly. “Ah, well. Thanks for delivering my letter the other day, man.” He cleared his throat. “She mentioned that she had something for me. She said she’d drop it off with you?”

Arthur almost laughed at how desperately hopeful Alfred sounded - his fragile optimism quivered like spider’s silk in the wind. The jock was just so _adorable_. Arthur couldn’t stand it. 

“Yeah, she gave me a note,” Arthur said, and god, he really hated himself. Of course he’d written a note back to Alfred - and then thrown it away immediately. Then he’d written forty-seven more drafts, crumpling up each of them in frustration when he couldn’t find the right words, or wrote something too sappy, or started writing down the truth. He’d finally settled on a simple reply, and had carefully folded the paper up and put it in his pocket. The paper now felt like it was burning a hole through his pants, and Arthur couldn’t bear to give it to Alfred.

But then the jock was looking at him with that _look_ \- lips pouting, blue eyes round - the look that signaled he was very much willing to beg. And that had Arthur’s insides squirming, so he of course fished the note out of his pocket and handed it over. 

Alfred looked at the crumpled, folded piece of paper as if it was a precious gem, or maybe a sacred item. He handled it like a priceless piece of art, unfolding it lovingly, smiling giddily in excitement. Arthur wanted to avert his eyes in embarrassment, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but smile fondly at the other boy. He was just so damned _cute!_ If only they weren’t from warring groups - if only they were a little different. Wouldn’t it be easier if Alfred just quit being a jock? He could pick up something easy in band, like the cymbals or the triangle. Or Arthur could quit band and take up track and field, or one of those sports that doesn’t require any technical knowledge of points and strategies.

Oh, who was he kidding? They couldn’t do that. They were their own people, with their own interests. And Arthur couldn't play a sport to save his life. They were just too different. Plus, Alfred didn’t even like Arthur. He liked “Artie,” a mere figment of his imagination. _God_ , this was such a mess. 

“Did she really write this?” Alfred said, distracting Arthur from his self-loathing.

“What?” Arthur yelped, trying not to betray his worry.

“I asked if she really wrote this. It’s so short, so simple. Usually she likes to talk more than this, is all,” Alfred said, smiling to himself.

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. It was a rhetorical question, not an accusation. He decided to answer with more vitriol than was necessary: “How should I know? She just gave me the note and left. It’s not like we’re besties or anything, mate.”

Alfred wasn’t even wounded by Arthur’s biting remark - he was too busy re-reading the letter, fingers tracing the letters. Arthur rolled his eyes, in the mood for a fight. “What’s so special about this girl, anyway? If you wanted a piece of ass, why don’t you just grab one of the millions of cheerleaders that fawn over you?”

Alfred’s head whipped around toward Arthur, and Arthur was stunned to see fury in his blue eyes. “You’re disgusting,” he said, menacing, and _damn_ , that hurt a lot more than Arthur thought it would.

“What?” he bit back, trying to hide his hurt. “That’s all you jocks want, right?”

Alfred’s hands curled into fists under his desk, and a vein began to throb on his temple. “Y’know, you’re just like all those other band geeks. You just believe everything you’re told without question, following each other around in herds, like a bunch of goddamn cows.” Arthur had never seen Alfred this _angry_ before - he was honestly shocked. “Us jocks aren’t just out for a piece of ass. We don’t think of girls as pieces of meat - but I guess that’s how you guys think, huh? You think that because the cheerleaders aren’t afraid to show some skin, they’re just asking for it, right? You think we’re all greedy and lazy? Well, I’ll have you know that we aren’t like that. _I’m_ not like that. I’ll have you know that Artie is the most wonderful person I’ve ever met, and I would never talk about her like that. She’s - she’s _different_ , and _special_ , and even if I never got to kiss her ever again, I’d be fine - I just like being around her, I like talking to her, getting to know her. I don’t even care that she’s a band kid. So next time you even think about talking about her like that, I’ll beat your ass.”

Arthur just sat in stunned silence, blinking at Alfred with new eyes. He’d always thought the jocks were just … jocks. Lazy and greedy, just like Alfred had said - he’d thought they picked up cheerleaders and discarded them the next day. But maybe everything he’d heard was wrong, or at least exaggerated. Clearly, Alfred was a good guy. Not just a good guy; he was polite, and courteous, and he wanted to get to know Arthur, hang out with him - he was genuinely interested in him!

But he wasn’t interested in _Arthur_ , he reminded himself angrily. He was interested in _Artie_. He was soft and kind toward Artie, but he was unafraid to beat Arthur to shit. He didn’t care about Arthur. Arthur was just a vehicle to deliver notes and messages, a messenger and nothing more.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, and he really meant it. He was sorry for saying such awful things, for objectifying girls like that. He was sorry for Alfred, who was in love with a girl who didn’t exist. Mainly, he was sorry for himself: having to endure the fresh hell of this ruse day in and day out, until he was finally discovered. 

Alfred huffed, but seemed to accept Arthur’s apology. His anger faded, replaced by excitement and longing. “See - look at this note,” he said, and although Arthur tried to refuse, Alfred slid the note into his hands.

> _“Alfred -_
> 
> _Please do not dig a hole and die in it. I am a little too fond of you, and I’d miss you if you perished. Thank you for sharing your ‘super secret special place’ with me. I hope to see you again soon._
> 
> _\- Artie.”_

Arthur tried not to grimace as he studied his own handwriting. God, why did he write something so cringey? _“I’d miss you if you perished?”_ What sort of sappy shit was that?

“See? She’s kind. And smart. And she made fun of me a little, but that’s to be expected, y’know?” Arthur never thought he’d have a jock breathlessly describe him as kind and smart, but hey! Life was full of surprises. Alfred couldn’t seem to shut up about Artie, in fact. He droned on and on about “her:” her neat handwriting (which he didn’t even notice was identical to Arthur’s chemistry notes in his notebook), her biting wit, her little peals of silvery laughter, her slight British accent (also identical to Arthur's, but Alfred hadn't even noticed his), her delicate hands, and of course, her bright green eyes. Arthur tried not to flush in embarrassment as his own features were described in detail by the lovestruck jock, and he had to stop himself from burying his head in his arms from sheer mortification. 

Alfred wouldn’t shut up about the eyes, those green eyes, so pretty, so sparkly, like a jewel on a necklace (Arthur had to inform him that those jewels were called emeralds about three times) and after forty-five minutes of drabble, Arthur couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Could you shut up, please?” he said, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes in frustration. He felt like he needed to cry. “Just, write down what you want her to hear, okay? I can’t listen to this any longer.”

Alfred had the decency to look embarrassed, at least, and turned to his notebook to start frantically scribbling to his lover. Arthur could see all of the ridiculous exclamation marks Alfred was using, and rolled his eyes. The guy was like a freight train of excitement. Arthur hated that he loved that.

Suddenly, the bell was ringing, and Alfred looked at Arthur frantically. "Hold on," he said, scratching out a few more lines at the bottom of his note. 

"Hurry up," Arthur said impatiently, eager to leave this class and wallow in self-pity for the rest of the day.

"Almost done," Alfred said, tongue poking out from between his teeth as he focused diligently on the task at hand. Arthur watched him write, _"Sincerely,_ _Alfred F. Jones"_ at the bottom of the letter, and smirked. So formal.

"Okay. Fold it for me, please?" Alfred said, smiling at Arthur and pushing his glasses up his nose. Arthur rolled his eyes, but nodded. As he folded up the note, he spotted the final line:

> _"Meet me at the super secret special place after school!!! I don't have practice today, so we have all the time in the world!!! I can't wait to see you again!!! (with the lights off :-) :-) :-) of course)"_

Arthur shut his eyes tight, hating himself with every fiber of his being. He was digging his own grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Deny thy father and refuse thy name" is one of my absolute favorite lines from Romeo and Juliet. I love that she's just calling into the night, wishing and hoping that Romeo wasn't a Montague, that he would leave his own family to be with her. It's so powerful, but also so silly - who would be willing to do that for love?  
> Also, this fic is getting incredibly long. Classic me, writing way too much for no reason. I should just go to _SLEEP._


	5. Scene 5: The Second Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur and Alfred meet again, get to know each other, and an unnecessary amount of touching in the dark ensues :-)

> _ROMEO: Lady, by yonder blessèd moon I vow,_
> 
> _That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops--_
> 
> _JULIET: O, swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon,_
> 
> _That monthly changes in her circle orb,_
> 
> _Lest that thy love prove likewise variable._
> 
> _ROMEO: What shall I swear by?_
> 
> _JULIET: Do not swear at all._
> 
> _Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,_
> 
> _Which is the god of my idolatry,_
> 
> _And I’ll believe thee._
> 
> _Act 2, Scene 2_

**Arthur Kirkland, Wednesday, November 5th, 3:12 pm**

Arthur sat in the darkness of the secret meeting room, phone flashlight illuminating Alfred's latest note. He read it again, overwhelmed with self-loathing.

> _"Dear Artie,_
> 
> _I don't have a ton of time to write this because I'm dumb and I didn't write it ahead of time. Ha! I'm so dumb lol!!!! Anyway I'm glad you're fond of me :-) ;-) I'm fond of you too :-D Anyways will you please meet me at the super secret special place after school??? I don't have practice today, so we have all the time in the world!!! I can't wait to see you again!!! (with the lights off :-) :-) :-) of course)_
> 
> _Sincerely, Alfred F. Jones."_

Arthur turned off his flashlight and buried his head in his hands. He was _such_ a terrible person. He was _awful_. Downright despicable, even. He was taking advantage of this boy, fooling him with this cruel charade. But Arthur couldn't stop, even if he wanted to! He needed to see the boy, even if it was in complete darkness. He needed the jock's admiration, his unfettered adoration. He couldn't stop thinking about all the kind things Alfred had said during class, how the jock had described Arthur's eyes in such detail, how he'd gushed over Arthur's hands and lips. What could he say? He was a bit vain! He loved having his ego stoked in such an adorable fashion.

Realistically, though, he didn't have much time left. It was only a matter of time until Alfred found out that "Artie" was merely Arthur in a dress, and then this delicate ruse would collapse, taking Alfred's adoration - and Arthur's heart - with it. Arthur was bound to let some detail slip that would reveal his identity, or accidentally get lost in a kiss and do something foolish. Really, if he thought about it, today could be the last day. Alfred could figure it out at any time. Alfred could walk in and turn the lights on, and everything would fall apart -

Arthur was shaken from his spiraling thoughts by an insistent tap on the door. "Artie?" Alfred called, voice muffled. "You in there?"

Arthur sighed, resisting the urge to cry. "Yeah, I'm here."

Alfred laughed giddily from the other side of the door, and Arthur could only imagine how ridiculously excited the jock must look. "Great! Cool. Uh, can I come in?"

Arthur chuckled, nodding. Then he remembered Alfred couldn't see him, and he called, "Yeah."

"Don't sound so excited," Alfred said, smiling so much it was audible. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you all day."

"Oh," Arthur managed to choke out. "That's ... nice."

"Is that okay?" Alfred rushed to say. "I can't see your expression. Are you upset?"

God, the jock was so perfect. _Why me,_ Arthur thought desperately. _Why am I here, if just to suffer?_ "Oh, I'm not upset. I think that's nice."

"Good," Alfred said, and his footsteps approached Arthur happily. "Where are you?"

Arthur reached out in the darkness until his hands connected with Alfred. He trailed his fingers up Alfred's arms, noting the boy's breathy sigh. "I'm right here."

Alfred's hands reached out tentatively, sliding gently into Arthur's hair. "Is this okay?" he breathed, and _god_ , he was so polite, Arthur just wanted to die. Arthur didn't deserve someone this pure. He was vile and deceitful, purposefully misleading this virtuous boy - and for what? What did Arthur gain from being a fraud?

Suddenly, the heat of Alfred's breath was whispering against Arthur's lips, and soon after, the boy's lips were brushing against his own. Arthur immediately sighed into the kiss - there was nothing sweeter than a kiss from Alfred - and pushed back ever so slightly. He loved Alfred's lips. They were bigger than his, more chapped than his, and their touch was lighter than a feather. Alfred kissed Arthur like he was fragile, never pushing, never asking for anything. Alfred kissed like honey, like cotton candy, like clouds, like butterfly's wings. Arthur was so used to the harshness, the brazen violence of kissing - kissing like he was fighting, kissing like he wanted to dominate his partner. The boys he'd been with were usually into that sort of thing (at the party, Alfred had seemed very into it), but now there was only sweetness. Arthur wasn't used to this; he was overwhelmed by how Alfred lovingly moved his lips, how he languidly spread his fingers through Arthur's hair, how he cradled Arthur's head as if it was sacred.

The kiss was so sweet, so all-encompassing, that Arthur couldn't stand it. He felt a flood of guilt and shame, knowing that he was willfully tricking Alfred in such a cruel manner, and the feeling coiled low in his gut, making him sick. He pushed Alfred away, face flaming.

Alfred stumbled back, and although Arthur couldn't see the boy, he could hear his confusion. "D - did I do something wrong?" Alfred asked, all concern, voice gravelly and breathless.

"No," Arthur said quickly, and he almost forgot to keep his voice pitched higher. "You're fine, it's just ... can we just talk, for today? Get to know each other, like you said you wanted to?"

Alfred immediately obliged. "Of course," he said, letting out a shaky breath. "Yeah, of course we can do that."

* * *

**Alfred Jones, Wednesday, November 5th, 5:07 pm**

Alfred wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting in the darkness with Artie, and quite frankly, he didn't care. 

At the beginning of their secret rendezvous today, all he'd wanted was to kiss Artie. He'd been distracted all day, thinking about her soft, thin lips, the way she smiled and sighed as she kissed, her quiet voice. And that's what he'd done almost immediately - but for some reason, she wasn't into it. Alfred wondered what he'd done wrong, what had changed ... he'd been trying so hard to be gentle. But apparently, she didn't want to, and that was fine with Alfred.

So they'd sat on the floor, shoulders brushing in the darkness. They'd talked about anything and everything - first, Artie's past, her immigrant parents, how she wished her accent wasn't noticeable, how she secretly wished to move back to England one day. Then they'd moved on to Alfred's hard times in school - how kids made all sorts of rude comments about his big lips and wide nose, how people still asked to touch his hair. He'd never opened up about any of this stuff, not even with Miguel and Park. With his friends, they had an unspoken agreement to never speak of the racism they faced - they just had each other's backs. With Artie, though, he found himself spilling everything, like how he felt obligated to play every sport because people expected him to. He told her about how his teammates complained that he was "too fast because he was Black," how it was "unfair that he could jump so high, since that came straight from his DNA." He usually brushed off jokes like that during practice, laughing it off - but as he spoke with Artie, he realized how much those comments hurt. He worked hard for his athletic ability. He pushed himself at the gym, on the track, on and off the court. He could jump higher than all of his teammates because he _worked_ for it, not because of his race. As he spoke, he realized he felt trapped in the jock world, trapped in this small, conservative town.

Artie listened with interest, humming and nodding along as she laid her hand gently on top of Alfred's. She told him how she felt similar, how in the band kid world, she felt like a puppet, a performer. They all expected her to act a certain way, and she was trapped by their expectations of her - she had to be snarky, cynical, unapologetically mean to anyone who wasn't in band. She of course couldn't relate to Alfred's problems with casual racism, but she'd noticed the same sort of prejudice when it came to gay kids. Alfred wasn't sure how she fit in that category (she was straight, wasn't she? It'd be sort of weird if she wasn't), but he agreed completely that their school had a lot of hidden homophobia. Hell, even his closest friends and teammates made rude comments about some of the band kids.

Now they sat in companionable silence. Alfred wondered how many hours had passed as they talked. He probably needed to get home soon, but he'd rather stay here in this moment forever. The only thing that could make this better was more touching, or some light. Sure, Artie was holding Alfred's hand carefully in her own, their fingers laced together, and yes, Alfred was content to exist in the gray-black shadow of this room - but at the same time, Alfred ached for more. He longed to _see_ Artie, drink in her long eyelashes, her strong cheekbones, her frowning lips. He wondered what she looked like right now. He was starting to forget the little details of her face - Halloween was almost a week ago, and he'd been a lot more drunk than he'd like to admit. He yearned to see her again, to refresh his memory.

Then a thought struck him. If Artie didn't want him seeing her face, would she mind if Alfred touched her face? He wanted to map out her features under his fingers, memorize her beauty through touch alone. He broke the silence, clearing his throat. "Would you mind if I touched your face?"

Artie seemed to freeze beside him, and Alfred immediately regretted asking. "I mean, I know you aren't comfortable with me seeing you, and touching you from the neck down is a no. I get that, and I respect that, but the thing is ... I'm starting to forget what you look like, and I want to remember. But if that freaks you out, that's totally fine, you can just forget I said anything at all -"

"Okay."

Alfred balked. "What?"

Artie seemed to take a deep, fortifying breath. "I said that's okay."

"Oh," is all Alfred managed to say. After a moment's hesitation, he unlaced his fingers from Artie's, trailing the the tips of his fingernails slowly up her arm. He lightly skated over her shoulder, the pads of his fingers just brushing her collarbone. She was a little bony, just like Alfred remembered from the party. Cute. He brought his other hand up, smoothing both hands up the elegant column of her neck. His fingers met her jawbone - so sharp, more defined than any girl Alfred had ever seen - and he let his thumbs dance across her pointy chin, noting how she clenched and unclenched her jaw as he did. Then his fingers were traveling up, up, over soft cheeks and angular cheekbones. He made a noise of surprise as he smoothed his thumbs over her eyebrows - they were a lot thicker than he remembered. But she had been wearing a lot of makeup that night, he reasoned, so perhaps her natural brows were thick. He didn't mind, and he continued to explore her face. He delicately touched her closed eyes, her long eyelashes twitching slightly as he moved his fingers over them. He dragged a finger down her nose, noting how she was trying to take long breaths but kept stopping, breath hitching. Alfred continued his ministrations, threading his left hand into her hair - just as soft as he remembered the first night, but not nearly as sticky. 

"Is your hair still dyed?" Alfred asked, and it came out husky and whisper-soft.

"What?" Artie said, barely audible.

"On Halloween," Alfred began, carding his fingers through her short tresses, admiring how soft and straight the hair was. "Your hair was pink, or orange, or something. Ginger, maybe. It looked like it was dyed. Is it still dyed?"

Artie seemed to hesitate, but finally shook her head. Alfred's hand moved with her as she moved. "No, it isn't dyed."

Alfred exhaled slowly through his nose, bringing his right hand back up to Artie's face. "What color is your hair, then?"

Artie again hesitated. "Blonde," she finally whispered, and Alfred's mind raced. He tried to picture the girl he knew with blonde hair, but it didn't seem to match. He hummed, returning to his earlier task: memorizing every curve and contour of her face.

With his left hand still carding through his hair, he trailed the fingers of his right down her nose, exploring her upper lip. The skin there felt oddly rough, but Alfred didn't question it. He knew a lot girls waxed or shaved their upper lip - Miguel's little sister, bless her heart, had shaved her whole face after some bully said she looked like the guy on the Taco John's sign. Alfred continued his little adventure across Artie's face, outlining her lips with his thumb. 

Her breath stuttered as he touched her lips, so he did it again, this time pulling her lower lip down with his thumb gently. She gasped in a breath, and Alfred realized that he'd never been this intimate with anyone in his entire life. She was so trusting to let him explore her face like this, completely at the mercy of his wandering hands. The darkness heightened his feeling of touch, making the pads of his fingers feel electric as they ghosted over her lips.

Artie's labored breathing only intensified, and Alfred found his own pace quickening. If only he could see her right now - her pale cheeks were probably flushed, her eyes squeezed tight, brows furrowed, chest rising and falling rapidly. Alfred's heart squeezed with a striking fondness and a burning lust, each equally powerful. She was panting now, and Alfred wanted to try something - he pulled her hair gently with his left hand, pressing his thumb into her lip with his right.

She let out a low, shaky moan - lower than anything Alfred had ever heard a girl make - and tilted her head back. Alfred did it again, intrigued at her reaction. He pulled a little harder on her hair this time, pressed the very tip of his thumb into her mouth - and there she went again, making a low, satisfied groan in her throat.

Then she let out a garbled noise, and flew away from Alfred. The spell was broken, and Alfred wondered if he had gone too far. Had he been too forceful? Did he pull out her hair?

"Did I hurt you?" Alfred said, growing worried.

Artie made that same garbled choking noise, before huffing out an unnaturally high-pitched, "Oh, I'm fine! It's just. So late! I really must be going!"

Alfred listened to her hasty footsteps practically run for the door, and then: "Close your eyes while I leave."

Alfred dutifully closed his eyes.

"Are they closed?" Artie said suspiciously.

"Yes," Alfred said, trying not to sound annoyed. Why wouldn't she just let him see her, just once?

He heard the door swing open, then creak closed. At the last second, he peeked one eye open, just to catch a glimpse of her. Instead, he saw Arthur from chemistry class passing by the door, blushing brick red. 

What the hell was that guy doing in the gymnasium?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sexual tension here is getting out of hand. I just can't help myself! Y'know what else is getting out of hand? My use of hyphens. I'm re-reading parts of this to make sure it isn't total garbage, and there are literally 8 million hyphens. Wtf.  
> Also, I think it's important that Alfred and Arthur get to know each other and understand each other's problems and point of view. In the classic Romeo and Juliet, they don't even know each other! They're just in it for sex. I wanted to make sure my story differed from the original in that capacity.


	6. Scene 6: The Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alfred and Arthur keep meeting, keep writing notes to each other, and keep falling deeper and deeper in love ... but then Arthur realizes something when disaster strikes.

> _JULIET: My bounty is as boundless as the sea,_
> 
> _My love as deep; the more I give to thee,_
> 
> _The more I have, for both are infinite._
> 
> _Act 2, Scene 2_

**Arthur Kirkland, Monday, December 1st, 8:54 am**

As Arthur pocketed yet another note from Alfred and excused himself to use the bathroom, he realized something. It had been exactly one month since Alfred had written his first note, requesting their first meeting.

The realization hit Arthur like a punch to the gut, and as he quickly locked himself in an empty stall and fished out a pen (he wasn't in the bathroom to actually piss, he was in there to hurriedly answer Alfred's note, obviously), he reflected on the last four weeks.

Every chemistry class, Alfred had a new note for Arthur to deliver to "Artie," folded haphazardly and stuffed in his letterman's jacket pocket. The notes were clearly written with care, but Arthur would never understand how Alfred couldn't fold them correctly. They always looked like shitty origami, and were covered in brown lint from that stupid jacket. Arthur didn't care what they looked like, though; it was the _content_ that he loved. Alfred's notes had gotten longer and longer, some of them even taking up multiple pages. Each class, Arthur would pretend to use the restroom, only to scribble his reply while sitting on the toilet.

It was the _pinnacle_ of romance, really.

For the last few weeks, Arthur had told Alfred that he met "Artie" at the bathroom during class, because she wasn't busy during first period (a lie, since she didn't exist). He had also been telling Alfred that she loved to read his letters, that her eyes lit up whenever Arthur handed her a new one (another lie - although Arthur himself usually couldn't stop himself from grinning as he read each new note), and that she would quickly write her reply and give it back to Arthur for delivery before chemistry was over. (This last part wasn't a complete lie - Arthur did write his replies in the bathroom, trying to scribble something down as fast as possible so he could bring the note back and watch Alfred's blue eyes sparkle with excitement when he handed him the paper.)

The arrangement wasn't awful - it was actually sort of fun. It also resulted in two, if not three, notes being written back and forth between Alfred and "Artie" a day. The notes didn't even specify when they should meet any more - they both knew they'd meet in the room with the gray door after school every day without fail. At first, they'd been meeting every other day, on the days when they both had chemistry. Now, however, they just met every day - they couldn't stand not seeing each other for so long. Or, not really "seeing" each other ... since they were still meeting in complete darkness. That was constant, the darkness. As was that stupid pole outside of their room - the both of them had nearly run into that pesky pole every time they left. Whoever designed the gymnasium must've been a fool, because that bothersome pole was literally unavoidable, especially if you turned the corner quickly. Arthur decided to include that in his next letter - it was such a silly shared experience.

The constant notes and constant meetings had Arthur floating on an ethereal cloud of happiness, and his friends were starting to notice. Francis especially was curious as to what - or _who_ \- was making Arthur so giddy, and constantly pestered him. Francis also couldn't stop making fun of Arthur's laugh - it was high-pitched and breathy now, no matter how Arthur tried to lower it. He'd been spending so much time using his feminine "Artie" voice, breathlessly giggling with Alfred, that his real laugh had permanently changed. But Arthur never shared his secret - what would he say, anyway? _Oh, I'm just in love with this boy who thinks I'm a girl, and I'm actually pretending to be their middleman right now, which is kind of weird..._ No, he kept his mouth shut, and smiled a little wider, laughed a little easier, went to sleep each night thinking of dark, smooth skin and bright blue eyes.

Arthur grinned, unfolding Alfred's latest note. He read it quickly, scanning the boy's obnoxious use of punctuation, which Arthur had grown incredibly fond of. Not that he'd admit it.

> _"Dear Artie,_
> 
> _I can't stop thinking about your hands. I know I've said that at least 8 million times, but I'm serious!!! I can't even see your hands in the dark, but I just know they're beautiful!!! They're so delicate, yet so strong, and I know that sounds absolutely dramatic as hell, but it's true!!! Right now I'm sitting in my room, imagining you holding my hand the way you did yesterday. You did this thing where you put the tips of your fingers in between each of my knuckles, and I've never had anybody do that to me before. It felt nice!!!!! There's also a lot of other things that I've never had anybody do to me before, ~~and I would like it a lot if you did them to me~~ I mean I ~~'d love if your hands would do them to me~~ ~~shit~~ Anyways I really like you!!! I can't wait to talk to you today after school!!! How is your dad? I know you mentioned the other day that he was getting a bit of a head cold. That sucks!!!! ~~Anyways I love you~~ See you later!_
> 
> _Sincerely, Alfred F. Jones."_

Arthur had to cover his hearty chuckle as he finished reading the letter. Alfred was just so _silly_ , and most of the school - heck, most of the _world_ \- would never know it. Alfred had this cool-guy persona, and his long legs gave him a height advantage that was quite intimidating. Plus, his startling blue eyes gave him an otherworldly gaze, and when he was angry, those eyes were sharp with malice. It was sort of terrifying, and also a bit of a turn-on for Arthur ... but that wasn't the point. The point was, on the outside, Alfred Jones seemed like a completely different person. Now that Arthur knew him, he knew Alfred was silly, funny, prone to making strange facial expressions because he wore his heart on his sleeve, and made all sorts of embarrassing sound effects. He gestured wildly with his hands when he spoke, and slid his glasses up his nose at least every few seconds. He was goofy, and soft, and fond of cute animals and cuddling. In short: he was a marshmallow trapped inside a six foot tall running back.

Arthur began to craft his reply to the jock, noting with glee that Alfred had written _"Anyways, I love you"_ and then crossed it out. The boy had a bad habit of writing down the first thing that popped into his mind and then crossing it out in embarrassment - but he never used a fresh piece of paper when he messed up. The results were often hilarious, and today, they were more revealing than usual. Arthur was particularly interested in one line in the middle: _"There's also a lot of other things that I've never had anybody do to me before, and I would like it a lot if you did them to me."_ It was of course crossed out, but it was obvious what Alfred wanted.

A flush crept up Arthur's neck at the thought of _"doing those things"_ to Alfred - using his hands and his mouth to illicit sounds that Alfred insisted he didn't make. Arthur couldn't lie - he'd been thinking of those "things" for a while now, ever since the Halloween party, really, and his imagination went wild each night before bed. In fact, a couple nights ago, Arthur had lain awake for hours, unable to stop thinking about Alfred; about his smooth skin, the way his close-shaved hair still curled into little waves on the top of his head, the way his big hands had ghosted over Arthur's lips. Arthur couldn't get the visual of the tiny shorts Alfred had worn to school out of his head - whoever had decided that five inch inseam shorts were back in style needed to killed immediately and also given a million dollars. Alfred had looked like a blessing from _heaven_ in those shorts. His long, muscled legs were on full display, and his thighs - god, his _thighs_ \- had Arthur's mouth watering for all ninety minutes of chemistry class. Not to mention his, uh, package (it was no secret Alfred was packing, everyone already knew that thanks to Washington High's all-white, slightly see-through basketball uniforms) was looking quite nice in those shorts, filling Arthur's mind with all sorts of dirty images. Finally, at some unholy hour of the night, Arthur hadn't been able to take it any longer - he took himself in hand and started pumping roughly, barely able to last more than a couple minutes. The thought of it had him already half-hard now -

But Arthur's train of thought skittered to a halt as he heard footsteps enter the bathroom, loud voices filling the echoing space. 

"Can you believe it? Goddamn fag. I told Jones to stay away, but he just rolled his eyes at me."

This piqued Arthur's interest. The homophobic language meant the boys had to be jocks, but Arthur didn't recognize any of the voices. And "Jones" must have meant Alfred - what could they be talking about? Arthur decided it'd be best to not be seen, just in case, and carefully raised his legs up on to the toilet seat, so his feet couldn't be seen under the stall doors. 

"Yeah, well," another voice chimed in. "It's not like we can do anything about those fuckin' queers. Jones'll be able to handle himself, I'm sure."

"I'm not so sure!" The first voice said, and he really did sound familiar. "I told Jones that the creepy homo was staring at his ass, trying to make a move on him. But he didn't even care! I think he might be caught in the little fairy's spell, or something."

One voice scoffed, and for a while there was silence. Arthur's mind was racing. Of course these stupid jocks believed a gay person could literally _bewitch_ Alfred. God, what idiots. But who were they talking about? There weren't that many gays in the school who were out - Arthur himself was definitely still in the closet - so who on earth was the guy who was "staring at Alfred's ass?" For a moment, jealousy flickered through Arthur's mind. Alfred was _his_ , in a convoluted, sort of messed up way. Whoever it was needed to back off.

"Yeah, that fucking Kirkland kid better watch out. If I catch him making moony eyes at Jones again, I'll beat his ass so Jones doesn't have to."

Arthur's stomach dropped, and all jealous thoughts disappeared from his mind. He was so shocked that he slipped slightly, losing his hold on Alfred's letter. It dropped to the ground unceremoniously, sliding underneath the stall and toward the jocks. Arthur wanted desperately to reach out and grab it, but he also feared being discovered. So he stayed put, squeezing his eyes shut as angry tears threatened to leak out. 

One of the jocks stopped, feet scuffling against the tile floor. "Hey, look at this," he said, and stooped to pick up the letter. Silence reigned as the jocks presumably read the letter and its contents, and then the bathroom was bursting with whoops of laughter and wolf whistles. _"Daaamn!!"_ one jock shouted, accompanied by another, who yelled, "I guess we don't need to worry about Jones after all!"

Arthur wanted to sob as the troop of boys finally left the bathroom, still hooting and laughing obnoxiously. Arthur counted four pairs of shoes as they left - four people who knew about Alfred's secret love, four jocks who now could hold this against Alfred, maybe even use it for blackmail. Arthur felt terrible. His romance with Alfred was just for the two of them - that was it. It was a secret, and a well-kept one at that. It was special because they were the only ones who knew about it. And yes, Arthur was still masquerading as a girl, but their long conversations and intimate encounters had still happened to _him_. No one else. 

Not only that - now Alfred might find someone else to deliver his letters. He wouldn't trust Arthur to do the job after his friends showed him the note, which would immediately lead to discovering Arthur's secret. How was Arthur going to explain himself? _"Oh, sorry, I lost your note - yeah, the one that basically said "I love you" to a band geek and will definitely ruin your reputation, that's the one."_

And to make everything worse, those stupid boys had noticed Arthur admiring Alfred in chemistry. They'd been watching as Arthur sent him fond glances and subtly checked out his ass in those shorts. He felt humiliated, and was horrified to know they called him such awful names. They didn't even _know_ him! They'd never even talked to Arthur once - and yet they assumed that just because he looked at Alfred the wrong way, he was a "fag" and a "queer" who was trying to "bewitch" Alfred. They were horrible, they were despicable - they made Arthur's blood _boil_. Those boys were the reason Arthur and his band friends didn't feel safe at school. They were the reason they had to hide their true personalities, dress differently, cut their hair and look the part. 

That's when it hit him - this was _never_ going to work.

Even if Alfred found out about Arthur's trickery and by some miracle of god still chose to be with him (the most unlikely outcome possible, since Alfred was as straight as an arrow), they could _never_ be together. The band kids and the jocks were just too different. Being together would put the both of them in danger. Not to mention, it'd spark outrage from both groups, making the already tense atmosphere nearly unbearable.

As that realization washed over Arthur, he couldn't help himself - he began to cry. That's all he wanted: to be with Alfred. That's what he truly wanted, and he needed to stop lying to himself. He needed to come to terms with the fact that he was totally, completely, head-over-heels in love with the boy, but they would never be together. All these notes, all these secret meetings - it was all for _nothing_. This was never, ever going to work out.

Arthur realized he was still in the bathroom, crying on a toilet, and tried to get a grip. He wondered how long he'd been in there, and checked his phone - christ, there were only a couple minutes left of first period. What was he going to tell Alfred? He wiped away his tears angrily, shoving the unfinished draft of his reply back in his bag and throwing the strap over his shoulder. He rinsed his face off in the sink, taking deep, gulping breaths, but he still looked like a mess. 

He stomped back to class, simultaneously melancholy and furious. As he found his seat next to Alfred, he avoided looking at the jocks around him, the very boys who had said such awful things about him just moments ago. He didn't want them to know that their words had hurt him.

Alfred, of course, looked to Arthur with excitement, expecting another letter from "Artie." Arthur couldn't bear to look at him, instead staring glumly at the front of the classroom, where the whiteboard was covered in complicated equations.

"Hey," Alfred finally whispered. "So..."

Arthur cut him off harshly. "She didn't have a reply."

Alfred looked taken aback, mouth hanging open slightly. "What - why?" He leaned in toward Arthur, trying to look him in the eye. "Is everything okay? Is she here today?"

Arthur rolled his eyes angrily, finally turning to face the curly-haired boy. "She just didn't have anything for me, okay? Can't you just accept that -"

Alfred looked at Arthur with worry, noticing his blotchy face and red-rimmed eyes. "Hey, is everything okay?" he asked, and it was gentle, even sweet - it was the voice Alfred used when he talked to Artie in the dark. That made Arthur feel even worse, and he fought another onslaught of sadness. 

"I'm fine," he managed to say, sniffing. "I just have a ... a cold. I probably got it from my family, it's no big deal, I'm fine -"

"You don't look fine," Alfred said, and he seemed like he genuinely cared. _But he doesn't care about you,_ Arthur reminded himself. _None of the jocks care about a worthless, double-crossing, cruel queer like you._

"Hey, if something's wrong, you can talk to me, y'know? Something seems wrong -"

Then the bell was ringing, and Arthur stood abruptly, cutting Alfred off. "She can't meet you today," he said, voice cracking with emotion.

Alfred sat there in confusion, pretty mouth opening and closing as he searched for words. "Wha - what?" he finally managed, baffled. "How do you know about -"

But Arthur was already gone, almost running in his haste to get out of the classroom, away from those awful, awful jocks, away from Alfred, away from everything. He needed space to think - he needed his best friend. 

He left the school, tears staining his cheeks, and dialed up Francis. Francis picked up quickly - he was always on his phone in school. " _Bonjour_ , Arthur, what can I do for you?" he answered cheekily.

"I need you to come over to my house," Arthur said, not bothering to hide the emotion in his voice. "I have something I need to tell you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, my apologies for the homophobic language. It's essential to the story, and it's modeled after the shit I used to hear from some of the awful kids who I used to go to high school with.  
> Also, the fact that any of you are reading this is quite hilarious. Sometimes I remember that I have almost all of this written, just sitting in my drafts, and I'll panic and post a chapter at 1:00 am. God, I love life.


End file.
